Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=537402" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>March</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Winter is long in this climate <br>and spring--a matter of a few days <br>only,--a flower or two picked <br>from mud or from among wet leaves <br>or at best against treacherous <br>bitterness of wind, and sky shining <br>teasingly, then closing in black <br>and sudden, with fierce jaws.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II</div><div style="margin:10px 0">March, <br>you reminded me of <br>the pyramids, our pyramids-- <br>stript of the polished stone <br>that used to guard them! <br>March, <br>you are like Fra Angelico <br>at Fiesole, painting on plaster! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">March, <br>you are like a band of <br>young poets that have not learned <br>the blessedness of warmth <br>(or have forgotten it). <br>At any rate-- <br>I am moved to write poetry <br>for the warmth there is in it <br>and for the loneliness-- <br>a poem that shall have you <br>in it March.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III</div><div style="margin:10px 0">See! <br>Ashur-ban-i-pal, <br>the archer king, on horse-back, <br>in blue and yellow enamel! <br>with drawn bow--facing lions <br>standing on their hind legs, <br>fangs bared! his shafts <br>bristling in their necks! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sacred bulls--dragons <br>in embossed brickwork <br>marching--in four tiers-- <br>along the sacred way to <br>Nebuchadnezzar's throne hall! <br>They shine in the sun, <br>they that have been marching-- <br>marching under the dust of <br>ten thousand dirt years. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now-- <br>they are coming into bloom again! <br>See them! <br>marching still, bared by <br>the storms from my calender <br>--winds that blow back the sand! <br>winds that enfilade dirt! <br>winds that by strange craft <br>have whipt up a black army <br>that by pick and shovel <br>bare a procession to <br>the god, Marduk! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Natives cursing and digging <br>for pay unearth dragons with <br>upright tails and sacred bulls <br>alternately-- <br>in four tiers-- <br>lining the way to an old altar! <br>Natives digging at old walls-- <br>digging me warmth--digging me sweet loneliness <br>high enamelled walls.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My second spring-- <br>passed in a monastery <br>with plaster walls--in Fiesole <br>on the hill above 'Florence. <br>My second spring--painted <br>a virgin--in a blue aureole <br>sitting on a three-legged stool, <br>arms crossed-- <br>she is intently serious, <br>and still <br>watching an angel <br>with colored wings <br>half kneeling before her-- <br>and smiling--the angel's eyes <br>holding the eyes of Mary <br>as a snake's hold a bird's. <br>On the ground there are flowers, <br>trees are in leaf.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">V</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But! now for the battle! <br>Now for murder--now for the real thing! <br>My third springtime is approaching! <br>Winds! <br>lean, serious as a virgin, <br>seeking, seeking the flowers of March. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Seeking <br>flowers nowhere to be found, <br>they twine among the bare branches <br>in insatiable eagerness-- <br>they whirl up the snow <br>seeking under it-- <br>they--the winds--snakelike <br>roar among yellow reeds <br>seeking flowers--flowers. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I spring among them <br>seeking one flower <br>in which to warm myself! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I deride with all the ridicule <br>of misery-- <br>my own starved misery. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Counter-cutting winds <br>strike against me <br>refreshing their fury! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come, good, cold fellows! <br>Have we no flowers? <br>Defy then with even more <br>desperation than ever--being <br>lean and frozen! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But though you are lean and frozen-- <br>think of the blue bulls of Babylon. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fling yourselves upon <br>their empty roses-- <br>cut savagely! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But-- <br>think of the painted monastery <br>at Fiesole.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Carlos+Williams">William Carlos Williams</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=537402" data-title="March de William Carlos Williams" data-description="I

Winter is long in this climate 
and spring--a matter of a few days 
only,--a flower or two picked 
from mud or from among wet leaves 
or at best against treacherous 
bitterness of wind, and sky shining 
teasingly, then closing in black 
and sud..."></div>
</div>
</div>